The carriage door was held open by the driver, and she entered instantly. He shut her in, and mounted to his seat. As they drove away she became conscious of another person inside.

"Oh! Sol-it is done!" she whispered, believing the man to be her brother. Her companion made no reply.

Ethelberta, familiar with Sol's moods of troubled silence, did not press for an answer. It was, indeed, certain that Sol's assistance would have been given under a sullen protest; even if unwilling to disappoint her, he might well have been silent and angry at her course. They sat in silence, and in total darkness. The road ascended an incline, the horse's feet being still deadened by the carpet of leaves. Then the large trees on either hand became interspersed by a low brushwood of varied sorts, from which a large bird occasionally flew, in its affright at their presence beating its wings recklessly against the hard stems with force enough to cripple the delicate quills. It showed how deserted was the spot after nightfall.

"Sol?" said Ethelberta again. "Why not talk to me?"

She now noticed that her fellow-traveller kept his head and his whole person as snugly back in the corner, out of her way, as it was possible to do. She was not exactly frightened, but she could not understand the reason. The carriage gave a quick turn, and stopped.

"Where are we now?" she said. "Shall we get to Anglebury by nine? What is the time, Sol?"

"I will see," replied her companion. They were the first words he had uttered.

The voice was so different from her brother's that she was terrified ; her limbs quivered. In another instant the speaker had struck a wax vesta, and holding it erect in his fingers he looked her in the face.

"Hee-hee-hee!" The laugher was her husband the viscount!

He laughed again, and his eyes gleamed like a couple of tarnished brass buttons in the light of the wax match.

Ethelberta might have fallen dead with the shock, so terrible and hideous was it. Yet she did not. She neither shrieked nor fainted; but no poor January fieldfare was ever colder, no ice-house ever more dank with perspiration, than she was then.

"A very pleasant joke, my dear-hee-hee! And no more than was to be expected on this merry happy day of our lives. Nobody enjoys a good jest more than I do: I always enjoyed a jest-hee-hee! Now we are in the dark again; and we will alight and walk. The path is too narrow for the carriage, but it will not be far for you. Take your husband's arm."

While he had been speaking a defiant pride had sprung up in her, instigating her to conceal every weakness. He had opened the carriage door and stepped out. She followed, taking the offered arm.

"Take the horse and carriage to the stables," said the viscount to the coachman, who was his own servant, the vehicle and horse being also his.

The coachman turned the horse's head and vanished down the woodland track by which they had ascended.

The viscount moved on, uttering private chuckles as numerous as a woodpecker's taps, and Ethelberta with him. She walked as by a miracle, but she would walk. She would have died rather than not bave walked then.

She perceived now that they were somewhere in Lychworth wood. As they went, she noticed a faint gleam upon the ground on the other side of the viscount, which showed her that they were walking beside a wet ditch. She remembered having seen it in the morning: it was a shallow ditch of mud. She might push him in, and run, and so escape before he could extricate himself. It was her last chance. She waited a moment for the opportunity.

"We are one to one, and I am the stronger!" she at last exclaimed triumphantly, and lifted her hand for a thrust.

"On the contrary, darling; we are one to half a dozen, and you considerably the weaker," he tenderly replied, stepping back adroitly, and blowing a whistle. At once the bushes seemed to be animated in four or five places.

"John?" he said in the direction of one of them.

"Yes, my lord," replied a voice from the bush, and a keeper came forward.

"William?"

Another man advanced from another bush.

Quite right. Remain where you are for the present. Is Tomkins there?"

"Yes, my lord," said a man from another part of the thicket.

"You go and keep watch by the further lodge: there are poachers about. Where is Strongway?"

"Just below, my lord."

"Tell him and his brother to go to the west gate, and walk up and down. Let them search round it, and among the trees inside. Anybody there who cannot give a good account of himself to be brought before me to-morrow morning. I am living at the cottage at present. That's all I have to say to you." And turning round to Ethelberta: "Now, dearest, we will walk a little further, if you are abie. I have provided that your friends shall be taken care of." He tried to pull her hand towards him, gently, like a cat opening a door.

They walked a little onward, and Lord Mountclere spoke again, with imperturbable good humour:

"I will tell you a story, to pass the time away. I have learnt the art from you-your mantle has fallen upon me, and all your inspiration with it. Listen, dearest. I saw a young man come to the house to-day. Afterwards I saw him cross a passage in your company. You entered the ball-room with him. That room is a treacherous place. It is panelled with wood, and between the panels and the walls are passages

for the servants, opening from the room by doors hidden in the woodwork. Lady Mountclere knew of one of these, and made use of it to let out her conspirator; Lord Mountclere knew of another, and made use of it to let in himself. His sight is not good, but his ears are unimpaired. A meeting was arranged to take place at the west gate at half-past seven, unless a note handed from the balcony mentioned another time and place. He heard it all-hee-hee !

"When Lady Mountclere's confederate came for the note, I was in waiting above, and handed one down, a few minutes before the hour struck, confirming the time, but changing the place. When Lady Mountclere handed down her note, just as the clock was striking, her confederate had gone, and I was standing beneath the balcony to receive it. She dropped it into her husband's hands-ho-ho-ho-ho!

"Lord Mountclere ordered a brougham to be at the west lodge, as fixed by Lady Mountclere's note. Probably Lady Mountclere's friend ordered a brougham to be at the north gate, as fixed by my note, written in imitation of Lady Mountclere's hand. Lady Mountclere came to the spot she had mentioned, and like a good wife rushed into the arms of her husband-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!"

As if by an ungovernable impulse, Ethelberta broke into laughter also-laughter which had a wild unnatural sound; it was hysterical. She sank down upon the leaves, and there continued the fearful laugh just as before. Lord Mountclere became greatly frightened. The spot they had reached was a green space within a girdle of hollies, and in front of them rose an ornamental cottage. This was the building which Ethelberta had visited earlier in the day: to be short, it was the Trianon of Lychworth Court.

The viscount left her side, and hurried forward. The door of the building was opened by a woman.

"Have you prepared for us, as I directed?"

"Yes, my lord; tea and coffee are both ready."

"Never mind that now. Lady Mountclere is ill; come and assist her indoors. Tell the other woman to bring wine and water at once." He returned to Ethelberta. She was better, and was sitting calmly on the bank. She rose without assistance.

"You may retire," he said to the woman who had followed him, and she turned round. When Ethelberta saw the building, she drew back quickly.

"Where is the other Lady Mountclere?" she inquired.

"She shall never return-never!"

"Never. It was not intended that she should."

"That sounds well. Lord Mountclere, we may as well compromise matters."

"I think so, too. It becomes a lady to make a virtue of a necessity."

"It was stratagem against stratagem. Mine was ingenious; yours was masterly. Accept my acknowledgment. We will enter upon an armed neutrality."

"No. Let me be your adorer and slave again, as ever. Your beauty, dearest, covers everything! You are my mistress and queen! But here we are at the door. Tea is prepared for us here. in this cottage mode, and live here on occasion. Mountclere."

I have a liking for life Women, attend to Lady

The woman who had seen Ethelberta in the morning was alarmed at recognizing her, having since been informed officially of the marriage : she murmured entreaties for pardon. They assisted the viscountess to a chair, the door was closed, and the wind blew past as if nobody had ever stood there to interrupt its flight.

Full of misgivings, Christopher continued to wait at the north gate. Half-past seven had long since been past, and no Ethelberta had appeared., He did not for a moment suppose the delay to be hers, and this gave him patience; having taken up the position, he was induced by fidelity to abide by the consequences. It would be only a journey of two hours to reach Anglebury Station; he would ride outside with the driver, put her into the train, and bid her adieu for ever. She had cried for help, and he had heard her cry.

At last through the trees came the sound of the Court clock striking eight, and then, for the first time, a doubt arose in his mind whether she could have mistaken the gate. Sol had distinctly told him the west lodge; her note had expressed the north lodge. Could she by any accident have written one thing while meaning another? He entered the carriage, and drove round to the west gate. All was as silent there as at the other, the meeting between Ethelberta and Lord Mountclere being then long past, and he drove back again.

He left the carriage, and entered the park on foot, approaching the house slowly. All was silent; the windows were dark; moping sounds came from the trees and sky, as from Sorrow whispering to Night. By this time he felt assured that the scheme had miscarried. While he stood here a carriage without lights came up the drive; it turned in towards the stable-yard without going to the door. The carriage had plainly been empty.

Returning across the grass by the way he had come, he was startled by the voices of two men from the road hard by.

"Have ye seed anybody?"

"Not a soul."

"Shall we go across again?"

"What's the good? let's home to supper."

66 My lord must have heard somebody, or 'a wouldn't have said it." "Perhaps he's nervous now he's living in the cottage again. I thought that fancy was over. Well, I'm glad 'tis a young wife he's brought us

She'll have her routs and her rackets as well as the high-born ones, you'll see, as soon as she gets used to the place."

"She must be a queer Christian to pick up with him."

"Well, if she've Christian charity 'tis enough for we poor men; her faith and hope may be as please God. Now I be for on-along homeward."

As soon as they had gone Christopher moved from his hiding, and avoiding the gravel-walk, returned to his coachman, telling him to drive at once to Anglebury.

Julian was so impatient of the futility of his adventure that he wished to annihilate its existence. On reaching Anglebury he determined to get on at once to Melchester, that the event of the night might be summarily ended; to be still in the neighbourhood was to be still engaged in it. He reached home before midnight.

Walking into their house in High Street, as dissatisfied with himself as a man well could be who still retained health and an occupation, he found Faith sitting up as usual. His news was simple: the marriage had taken place before he could get there, and he had seen nothing of either ceremony or viscountess. The remainder he reserved for a more convenient season.

Faith looked anxiously at him as he ate supper, smiling now and then.

"Well, I am tired of this life," said Christopher.

66

"So am I," said Faith. Ah, if we were only rich!"

"Ah yes."

"Or if we were not rich," she said, turning her eyes to the fire. "If we were only slightly provided for, it would be better than nothing. How much would you be content with, Kit?"

me.

"As much as I could get."

"Would you be content with a thousand a year for both of us?" "I daresay I should," he murmured, breaking his bread.

"Or five hundred for both?"

"Or five hundred.”

"Or even three hundred?"

"Bother three hundred. Less than double the sum would not satisfy We may as well imagine much as little."

Faith's countenance had fallen. "Oh Kit," she said, "you always disappoint me."

"I do. How do I disappoint you this time?"

"By not caring for three hundred a year-a hundred-and-fifty each— when that is all I have to offer you.”

"Faith!" said he, looking up for the first time. Her soft eyes were curiously turned upon him.

"It is true, and I had prepared such a pleasant surprise for you, and now you don't care! Our cousin Lucy did leave us something after all. I don't understand the exact total sum, but it comes to a hundred-and

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